


all the sinners crawl

by theviolonist



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Blair notices about her is their resemblance. The second is her handbag. The third is the smile on her face. </p><p><i>Uh-oh,</i> she thinks. <i>This one is trouble.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	all the sinners crawl

They can say what they want, beauty is the reigning attribute in this kingdom. 

Blair didn’t make the rules, despite what she likes to pretend; she merely follows them, and if she happens to be born with the right genes, what of it? Serena got the fame. She can keep the elegance. 

Sometimes, when she’s too sober, when the winds catches up with her and slaps her across the face, she wonders whose idea it was to put the four of them on the thrones. The Princess, the Prince, the Queen and the Jester. 

Well. At least they’ve got the looks for it. 

*

The first thing Blair notices about her is their resemblance. The second is her handbag. The third is the smile on her face. 

Uh-oh, she thinks. This one is trouble. 

*

Her name is Jenny and she’s her and Serena’s child. She’s got Blair’s ambition and Serena’s raw sensuality. Her cunning looks innocent. Her mouth is a little too big for her face, too red, too ambitious, but it won’t keep her from making it. 

So Blair does the only thing she can. She lures her in (it’s easy - she’s a child who wants to be seen, Blair’s been that child before) and feeds her honey. You can do it, doll. Those girls believe that it’s not enslaving if the ropes are made out of silk. 

_She’s pretty,_ Blair sometimes thinks on the weeks when the only food that makes it into her body is immediately regurgitated. _What a shame._

But in the end, she isn’t sure if she would wish this on anyone. Or maybe it’s just light-headedness. Maybe she really does love it and just can’t remember why. 

Who knows. 

*

Blair invites her for a sleepover when her mom leaves on yet another one of her trips. She didn’t even bother to try and remember the destination. She doesn’t really care.

Jenny shows up at seven sharp. Her heels are too high and her smile too genuine. If she still could, Blair would probably feel sorry for her. 

“Come in,” she says instead. 

She forces herself to eat three muffins while they talk about boys. Blair warns Jenny off Nate and watches her grow increasingly determined to get into his pants. She could try to explain that she’s not jealous, that Jenny is just going to end up broken-hearted because Nate is too lazy to fight for anything, but she doesn’t. 

“Would you do my nails, darling?” she asks when the sugar gets too much, sticking to her tongue like lead. 

Jenny looks surprised for a second too much - and maybe she’s not that perfect, after all - but she catches herself soon enough. “Of course,” she says. 

Blair monologues for a good ten minutes. She only does that when there’s someone to tell. It’s not that she needs anyone to listen, really, but she doesn’t like speaking to herself. More often than not the loneliness comes back and pummels her stomach until she feels weak and she has to lie down. 

Jenny doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s at the appropriate moments, just keeps her pretty blond head bowed and paints Blair’s nails a violent red. Maybe she should have chosen another color. 

“Do you really want this, Jenny?” she asks all of a sudden. 

Jenny springs on her knees, the silky fabric of her pajamas stretching taut on her breasts. “Yes,” she says. 

Blair usually has a test for this, but she can’t remember what it is. She’s so fucking tired of those games. “Can you prove it to me?” she asks anyway. The weakness is always just momentary. Unless it’s the strength. 

But Jenny, wonderful, sweet Jenny, looks up at her with her liquid golden eyes, smiles and says: “Of course.”

She initiates the first kiss; the rest is all for Blair, because if she’s going to be queen she wants all the power. 

*

Serena whisks her away to Las Vegas and spends a small country’s GDP losing poker games because she’s got a broken heart. Blair doesn’t bother asking over whom. Hell, she doesn’t even ask herself why she’s there - if she did she probably wouldn’t be. 

Serena is the usual trainwreck: one night she abandons her to hook up with one of the poolboys from the party she got them both invited to and leaves Blair to take a cab and beg for the keycard at the hotel; the next she convinces Blair to get matching tattoos at a seedy tattoo parlor in the town centre. 

“They’re beautiful,” she says, awed, brushing the minuscule bird on the inside of her wrist. Blair wonders what she’s on. 

Serena looks at her, expecting a reaction. Blair doesn’t give her any. She’s already doing enough. 

Serena pays the tattoo artist and chats with him for a few minutes while Blair tries to forget that she didn’t want to get her skin dirty for anyone. He disappears at the back of the shop for a few minutes and then he’s back with what looks suspiciously like a bottle of vodka and... keys? 

“Come on,” Serena says, running up to her. 

“Where are we going?”

“His brother owns an ice rink,” Serena says, her face illuminated. “He said we could try it out.”

There aren’t any skates when they get there, of course, and they’re forced to sit on the benches in the freezing cold, huddling together and guzzling down vodka for warmth. Blair complains about Jenny vaguely enough for Serena to understand without asking too many questions. 

“Your problem,” Serena says when they’re sufficiently drunk, “is you don’t need a minion.” She leaves a moment for her dramatic pause, swallowing with difficulty. “You need a friend.”

 _What about you?_ Blair thinks, but then she looks over at Serena and she’s watching her, her black-ringed eyes and her wide mouth that’s so good at being sad, so good at saying the wrong things. 

_Yeah, you’re right._ She was never a friend. 

*

The thing is, Jenny Humphrey not only wants to be a part of this world, she wants to change it. Blair doesn’t know how she feels about that. In doubt, she fights her tooth and nail. 

"You can't trust anyone," she heaves when Jenny is laying under her, marring her pretty white skin with bruises and teeth marks; but Jenny doesn't seem to dislike it, she's squirming and giggling like a child. 

"Okay," she says, giving back kiss for kiss, nip for nip. 

"And if you say no, you always have to make it sound like yes."

Jenny hauls herself up on her elbows. Blair counts the things that are wrong about her: one, her chin is too high; two, her breasts are too pointy; three, her hair is too blonde; four, her lips are too pink; five, she's too good at fucking. It's almost like a lullaby. 

It should take her more effort than it does to flip Blair over and crush her against the sweetly burning weight of her hips. Who cares? Maybe Blair wants to be weak, for once. 

Jenny laughs like a devil. (Six). "No," she says, and she leans down to carve the shape of her teeth into Blair's throat. 

*

It's like slipping into a hot bath. She's in control, at first – she decides where they go and when, what they do. But then, little by little, Jenny gains ground. It's still Blair's ideas, but Jenny suggested them to her; couldn't they go to this concert, and screw school, really, doesn't she want a cigarette? 

It feels good for a while. It's like being Serena, that's what it feels like. Laughing full-throated and drinking beer from the bottle in six hundred dollar Manolos. 

For a second it even feels like a freefall, like she could actually fall in love with this twig of a girl, like the Upper East Side is just a distant dream, something she can get out of if she really tries. 

"You'll be with me," Jenny says. 

She doesn't understand that she's selfish too, Blair realizes once, twisting her hair in pretty patterns on the naked skin of her back while she sleeps. It's not only us. 

*

She really could've, is the thing. For a second she was tottering on the edge and one of her heels had a defection, was tipping towards her side... she could have fallen. It would have been painful but Jenny would have been there, would have been chock full of stupid hope. Mouth to mouth; cigarette smoke and the Brooklyn air. 

Queen B, abdicating. 

It was a close call. Jenny never saw the crown in the headband. 

*

Serena's the one who saves her, in the end. It's ironic because she's the one who always needs saving, even though she's well past beyond it. She whisks Blair away to Russia and they spend two weeks there getting drunk on white wine and watching operas they don't understand a word of. Well. Blair speaks Russian, but she doesn't tell Serena. 

"The thing is," Serena tells her when they're drunk enough, thumbing at the bird in the hollow of Blair's wrist, "you don't need a friend. You have me."

Blair thinks about what she's willing to lose and what she's willing to keep. Jenny doesn't make the cut in either category. 

*

"I love you," she says. God, she's crying. Has it been so little time? Is she really still so young? 

"Don't say that, Jenny."

"But it's true!"

Blair lays a hand on her forearm. She hopes her eyes aren't as sad as she feels, but she's been trained by the best. "I know," she lies.

*

It's not really heartbreak. There's a lot of ice-cream and a few tears, but it's not heartbreak. Blair Waldorf doesn't cry over boys, she certainly won't cry over girls. 

One rainy afternoon she's watching yet another Audrey Hepburn movie when Dorota knocks. Blair sits straight on her bed, even though her legs feels clunky. She probably isn't beautiful enough to be seen; she never is. 

"Yes," she says in as unwavering a voice as she can. 

Serena slips through the door, followed by Nate and Chuck. Blair tries to remember where they left their history, the petty wars and the haphazard kisses, but comes up blank. 

Chuck catches her glance. "It was raining outside," he says in lieu of explanation, shrugging his coat off. 

"Budge over," Nate says, sitting next to her. 

Blair considers chasing them, telling them she doesn't want to see them. She opens her mouth to say something, but doesn't. Maybe it's the little bird on her wrist, caging her in; maybe something more honest, who knows, friendship; maybe she's just too tired to talk. 

It doesn't matter. She closes her eyes. 

Screw Jenny Humphrey. This is who she is. She lays the cards. 

Royal hand. Princess, Prince, Queen, Jester.


End file.
